Chance and Choice
by mswainwright
Summary: This story re-imagines the chances and choices of Tom and Sybil. It begins by revisiting the events that unfolded in 3x05 so beware of spoilers. In chapter 4 - important decisions get made, but is everything as it should be? Comments always inspire. Enjoy!
1. Loss

A/N -_ Nothing like JF's bait and switch storytelling to tick a girl off and inspire her to start writing a new fan-fic the way the storyline should have unfolded. My last longish fic was inspired by all the things that JF and crew left out of Sybil and Tom's story in DA2, so this one is to cheer up all my fellow S/T shippers out there in the world (Scarlet Court – keep hope alive!) It is a sort of "what if" story that reimagines 3x05 onward – so BEWARE SPOILERS. Let me know what you think – your comments and suggestions always fuel the imagination since I do more or less make this up as I go along._ _I don't own these characters but am just inspired by them. Enjoy!_

Chapter 1 - Loss

And there, free and yet fast/Being both Chance and Choice,/Forget its broken toys/And sink into its delights at last.  
William Butler Yeats

Amorphic patches of green—brown—grey was all Tom Branson could see as he stared vacantly out of the large window. Withdrawn into a hollow space of loss, he could perceive color, faint sounds, a peculiar medicinal scent that permeated the room but nothing more. The world contained no shapes and no meaning. He felt numb and he only felt that because of he could still detect the faint beating of his now broken heart. In a state of shock, his soul felt utterly bereft.

Tom had seen death—its finality—before. His father had passed away when he was only eight years old. Back then he was far too young to comprehend the devastating loss his mother must have felt at the sudden death of her beloved husband. He remembered vividly his father going off to work in the yards one the morning. Da whistled his favorite tune as he walked out of the door. His father returned later that evening, his body battered and bloody, carried by his fellow shipwrights. His older sister tried to shield him from witnessing the horrific homecoming of their father, but it was Tom's last chance to see Da so he turned his head. He'll never forget seeing his father's lifeless, colorless hand dangling from the soiled stretcher as the men carried Da's body through the sitting room and up the stairs. His father died a few hours later. That scene was forever etched in his memory. He recalled the void his father's death left in his life. Sadly that same feeling of hollowness, amplified by the wisdom that accrues with adulthood, had mercilessly intruded back into his life.

Mary walked into the room. _"Tom,"_ she said quietly.

But he did not hear Mary's address—he was enveloped in the fog of grief. He dwelled for a moment upon his life as a chauffeur. He knew well the subtle timing of shifting the clutch to avoid locking the gears. But how could life shift so rapidly from the joys of giddy expectation to the deep abyss of loss? Surely the human heart revives after being beaten down by such a brutal blow?

"Tom," Mary raised her voice to gain his attention. "Please believe I'm so sorry, so very sorry," she said offering her condolences.

He didn't stir.

"Tom, we've done as you requested. They say you can see her now."

He turned around. Words escaped him, but he nodded in gratitude at his sister-in-law's kind words. He followed her out of the room.

* * *

Tom remembered death. He feared what he was about to witness. Nonetheless, he desperately needed to see Sybil in spite of the recent twist of fate that had devastated their lives. As he approached her bedside, she lay bathed in an aura of peacefulness. This was not the case only an hour ago when she convulsed in pain. Her violently writhing body struggled to cope with what Dr. Clarkson had astutely diagnosed as the onset of eclampsia. She had gasped for air as she struggled to stay in this world and with him.

To his loving eyes, even after such trauma, Sybil looked as beautiful as ever. He remembered when he first opened the door of the motorcar for the youngest daughter of his new employer and how the raspy voice of a spirited young girl desirous of discovering her independence through women's suffrage had sparked his curiosity. He recalled what an exquisitely beautiful woman she had become, the radiant confidence she projected, the night she had wandered into the garage to finally tell him she would leave Downton with him. The day of their wedding he remembered her elegant silhouette at the top of church aisle—she appeared like an angel. He savored the recollection of her scent of orange blossoms and the beauty and suppleness of her unclothed body as they consummated their love on their wedding night. He had never experienced such a profound connection to another human soul. She was his life. He loved her now more than ever, even as grief overwhelmed those happy memories.

He sat down on the bed and picked up Sybil's limp hand. He must be brave for them both. But touching her again unleashed a torrent of tears. He sobbed inconsolably repeating again and again, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry…"

"_She's finally resting",_ a familiar voice came from behind.

But Tom was too absorbed in his sorrow to hear the voice. "I'm sorry," Tom pleaded one last time as he raised Sybil's hand up to his face. When his lips met her skin Sybil's reflexes responded with a gentle squeeze. She knew he was there. Tom gazed up at her face and gently stroked her cheek, "Love, I promise it will be alright. I promise."

Tom then stood up and turned around to Dr. Clarkson. He wiped away the tears with his handkerchief.

"She's been given a heavy dose of morphine to ease the pain of the Caesarian procedure. She'll sleep till the morning."

Tom looked back at his wife's shallow breathing.

"Mr. Branson, please accept my condolences. I'm indeed sympathetic to your loss," the doctor relayed to him.

Tom nodded.

"I know this is a difficult time for your family. But you have to believe that you made the right decision letting us bring your wife to the hospital. We got her here before the malady became untreatable," Dr. Clarkson reminded him.

Tom recalled that split second decision to ignore Sir Phillip's empty assurances and heed Lady Grantham's wise appeal.

Dr. Clarkson had been right about the signs of eclampsia. But the local doctor also accepted the responsibility that he should have been more forceful in pressing Lord Grantham to bring Sybil to the Cottage Hospital sooner. "We were able to save Lady Sybil, but I'm sorry we could not do the same for her baby," the doctor offered his apologies and condolences for the young man's tragic loss

"Thank you Dr. Clarkson. "My wife survived, but our ch-child," Tom stuttered at the mention of his now dead first-born. "What was it? No one told me. Was it a boy? A girl?"

"It was a girl," Dr. Clarkson regretfully informed him.

A tear streamed down Tom's cheek, "may I see her?"

"Mr. Branson, that's quite un…I have to tell you that it may not be wise," Dr. Clarkson advised. But the doctor also understood the course of grieving and this father's request to see the infant. "Please, please give me a moment. I'll have the nurse bring her in."

"Thank you," Tom gave his barely audible reply.

Returning to Sybil's bedside, he stood over her and watched her sleep. _Thank god,_ he thought, that Sybil had made it through such a horrific ordeal. Given her sedated state she was unaware that their child had not survived. He realized that nothing but heartbreak awaits his wife when she awakens. He needed to regain his strength to help her through this dark time in their lives. He leaned in and kissed her forehead. "I'll say…" but his voice cracked and he couldn't finish. He mustered all the courage he had to assure her, "I will say goodbye to our daughter for both of us."

* * *

After what seemed like an eternity, the nurse walked in with a small bundled wrapped in white cloth. The older woman said nothing as she handed the baby to Tom.

How light his daughter seemed. Swaddled in white she was like a feather. He remembered holding his newborn nieces and nephews. Then it hit him like a load of bricks—there was no squirming or soft cries coming from the little bundle—his daughter was dead.

But Tom refused to unleash the flood tears he had dammed behind his resolve. For just this moment he needed to channel a lifetime's worth of love that would have been his daughter's birthright. He walked over to Sybil's bed and sat in the nearby chair. Clutching the baby in one arm he reached over and entwined his fingers with Sybil's.

"Little one, this is your mother—Sybil Branson and I'm," but he couldn't finish.

"Ahhhh…," he drew in a deep breath to regain his composure, "and I'm your father Tom Branson."

To find some semblance of hope, Tom tried to imagine how his daughter might have sounded. "We—we want you to know that we would have taken good care of you," he began as he looked upon the tiny but frozen face that peeked out from beneath the layers of cotton.

He gazed lovingly over at Sybil and squeezed her hand, "your ma here is a nurse. A very fine one, she is. It's because she has the kindest heart of anyone I know. And she would have showered you with so much goodness. I know she would. I'm sure you would've had her soft pale skin and long wavy hair, but I reckon its color would have been light like mine. Your blues eyes would have danced in the light like your mother's do. You'd have grown up to be a beauty. Driven the lads wild." His eyes brightened at the prospect of who she might have been.

"I'm going to tell you about Ireland. A place you'll never see," Tom thought for a moment, _would he ever see his beloved home again?_ "We live in Dublin a big busy city compared to where your Ma is from, this small village here in England. Your ma and I made sure you had a home to call your own. We were getting a room ready for just for you. I couldn't wait to take you to the countryside. The hills are greener than anything you've ever seen. I can picture you now—ripping through the meadows, stopping to pick wildflowers and sticking them in your hair. A sight of pure joy you would've been. The smell of the moss, the sound of the waves hitting the shore—that's Ireland our home, where you came from."

Looking down at their daughter, he told her, "You didn't have much of a chance to know your ma and me or for us to know you. But I'm sure something will come from the short time you had with us. I know it will. I just know it."

Tom swallowed hard and continued, "you weren't long in this world but I promise you won't be forgotten. Your mother and I will always have a special place in our hearts for you. You were made from our love. Good-bye my girl, God bless," he kissed the cold forehead of his daughter. "Good bye."

Tom looked lovingly over at Sybil for several seconds, maintaining the connection the three of them had for as long as possible. When it felt right that he given their daughter a proper farewell, he gently let go Sybil's hand and stood up.

He walked over to the nurse and handed his daughter back to her. "Thank you," he kindly expressed his gratitude for being allowed to say farewell to his child.

* * *

Once the nurse departed from the ward, Dr. Clarkson returned.

Tom began, "Doctor, I know that was an unusual request, but thank you for time alone with my wife and child. You may tell Lord and Lady Grantham they can see their daughter now." The doctor returned to the sitting room to retrieve Sybil's parents. Mary came in right away.

"Mary, thank you for arranging this time with Sybil before your mother and father see her. It was important to me and I'm sure to her."

"It's what little I can do at a time such this," Mary said sympathetically. "Let me know if there is anything else I can do to help."

Lord and Lady Grantham walked into the ward and immediately went to their daughter's bedside.

Satisfied that he had done what Sybil would have wanted, Tom left the ward and went back Dr. Clarkson's office. He would wait there for further word of his wife's condition. He wanted to make sure that he was there when she woke up. He needed to be the one to tell her that their child had not survived.

As he entered the dark paneled office, he noticed the many vials and bottles with long complicated names behind the glass doors. And yet all the medical knowledge in those containers couldn't save his daughter. What was it all for? How much was one in control of one's life and how much was the outcome of mere chance?

He had to be decisive—for him and his wife. He considered what to do next. _They would move on_, he resolved. They would pick up their lives and move forward not backward as he had promised Sybil. Tom took a deep breath and returned to his vigil at the large window.

_Up next: Sybil awakens._


	2. Fallen

_A/N The saga continues with this next chapter. I promise this story will get more cheery, but I felt like I had to slog through the aftershocks of what our DA masterminds have left us S/T shippers. Thank you all for the wonderful comments – they motivate and inspire! As other writers will tell you – we get lots of hits, so its nice to know what you think of about how we are directing the story and if we are true to the characters. And on that note I'm curious if you think Sybil's state of mind will get better or worse and how will/should Tom handle it? Enjoy!_

Chapter 2 – Fallen

Sybil's hand gently caressed the thin wood rail of the new crib whose interior would soon be filled with their new baby. Buoyed by thoughts of bringing life into this world, Sybil surveyed the nursery and its contents to make a mental list of the remaining items they needed to purchase. Tom's relatives had given them most of the other furniture but a few things were still missing in the room. In the corner sat an armchair whose cushions were comfortable, but fabric slightly worn in spots. She would get it reupholstered—perhaps a floral patterned velvet—before she gave birth and while they still had her nurse's income for expenses. The small table next to the crib came from Tom and his brothers' old room at his mother's house. To refresh its appearance, he had painted it and purchased a new lamp to brighten the corner. Her gaze shifted to the walls. The recently hung wallpaper was a perfect choice, it made the room seem cheerful and larger. Its soft yellow color reminded her of the pastel hues of Downton's nursery. Their diminutive room was, however, vastly different from the spacious suite that had hosted the nannies and the infant daughters of Lord and Lady Grantham. But she felt equally at home in their nursery because she would share it with the one man who made her deliriously happy, the husband who ensured her and their child's wellbeing.

She noticed that the small quilt—a wedding gift made by Tom's cousin Clare—had fallen on to the floor. She bent down to pick up the delicate coverlet and brushed it off. Made from yellow, blue, and white squares of cotton fabric, the quilt's stitching was exquisite. She'd never seen anything so intricate. The hours it must have taken Clare to… "Ohh my," Sybil winced momentarily then smiled as she draped the quilt back over the crib's rail. She looked down at the front of her grey striped dress. Her hand gently rubbed her now protruding belly. The baby had kicked again—this was a recent phenomenon as her pregnancy entered a new phase.

"Ah—there you are," Tom remarked as he entered the room and walked up behind her while she stood next to the crib deep in thought. "Are you thinking of other things we need?"

"That chair needs to be reupholstered," she informed him and pointed to the corner, "but we should wait until…"

"No buts and no waiting."

"We need to…" she countered.

"Whatever my wife needs for our child I'll make it so," Tom promised as he slid his arms around her waist. He sweetly kissed her cheek.

Being in Tom's embrace always made Sybil feel safe and loved. She wanted him to feel their baby's latest activity. "Here put your hand about…" She went to place her hand on Tom's to position it, but her waistline was back to its pre-pregnancy size.

Sybil panicked.

_What's happening? _

She gasped.

_Have I given birth?_

She looked down into the crib expecting to see her child.

_The baby?_

But the crib was empty.

_The baby, where is my baby?_

She turned around but Tom was no longer in the nursery.

_Tom!_

* * *

Tom left the Cottage Hospital late in the evening. Dr. Clarkson let him stay until midnight when Pratt arrived to ferry him back to Downton. He barely slept. He rose at dawn and walked down to the village to be sure he was at Sybil's bedside when she came around. The nurse informed him that Sybil had slept through the night and that she had finished changing his wife's dressings. Dr. Clarkson would stop in around 8 o'clock, but he had asked that Lady Sybil remain calm and that she continue to rest.

"The baby," Sybil mumbled as she thrashed her head from side to side. "The baby, where is my baby?" Sybil cried out as the effects of the morphine began to wear off.

Tom firmly held her hand and reassured her, "Its alright love, I'm here with you. You're safe." How vulnerable she seemed, how would he tell her their baby had died?

Her eyes batted a few times then opened halfway. "Mmmm, Toommm," she slowly spoke his name as she regained consciousness.

"I'm here," he assured Sybil while firmly grasping her hand to ensure that she was aware of his presence.

"The quilt had fallen…and then I couldn't find the baby…" Her hand moved instinctively to her middle to check on her baby. Right away she knew she was no longer with child.

Dr. Clarkson had warned that the early signs of pre-eclampsia would include disorientation. But that was well over a day ago and she was still confused, obviously groggy from the sedatives. "Its alright love," he repeated, although he knew it would not be so.

"Where's my…where am I?" she asked as she looked about the hospital to try to gain her bearings.

"You're safe."

"I remembered Dublin, standing in our nursery, Clare's quilt…the baby…" she rambled.

He needed to keep her calm as the doctor requested. "We're not in Dublin, we're at Downton, remember?"

Then her body became conscious of the invasive breach of the caesarian procedure. She suddenly cringed and curled onto her side, "Ahhh…ahh." Her arm reached up and punched the pillow, "Argh." The searing pain in her abdomen was like fire. "Where's the baby Tom? Why am I at the Cottage Hospital?"

Tom cupped both his hands around Sybil's hand as she reeled through the wave of pain.

Sybil had lost that primal connection with her child—she could feel it. But she had to focus. She took a deep breath to steel herself against what she feared most.

When she calmed down, he leaned in and kissed her forehead. "Look at me," he asked.

She looked at Tom.

"You're alright, Dr. Clarkson expects you to fully recover from the surgery," he began.

"And the baby, our baby?" her voice quivered as she knew something was terribly wrong.

He looked into her eyes, anguish clouded their blue tinge and it ripped his heart in two. He could tell—she knew already what only a mother could know.

"Just tell me."

Tom soberly revealed: "Our baby, she's gone."

That single truth stretched time to infinity.

Sybil was rendered speechless. Then tears gushed forth to fill the silence.

* * *

Tom sat on the side of the small hospital bed and held Sybil in his arms for several minutes. He said not a word, just held her close to comfort her. When her crying began to subside he asked the nurse for assistance to help prop his wife up in a sitting position.

"Can the nurse get you anything?" Tom inquired—it was the proper question to have asked, but also an awkward one given Sybil's yearning for her now dead child.

"No, nothing thank you" she replied in a distant voice drained of all emotion—she must be in shock.

"I'm so sorry," he offered his wife, trying to sooth her despair. Then he raised his hand to the side of her face and wiped her tear stained cheek with his thumb. He loved her so very much that he hated to see her in pain—mentally as well as physically.

Sybil looked down and corrected Tom: "No, I'm the one who is sorry."

"Love, what do you mean?"

"I can only blame myself for our baby's death."

Tom was shocked. How could Sybil believe that she was in any way responsible? "Its not your fault, its no one's fault. We couldn't have known this would happen."

"No it _is_ my fault. I should have known what was happening _to me_," she emphatically insisted as she continued to fixate on her hands in her lap.

"Stop it, you can't blame yourself."

"But I do blame myself. Tom, I'm a nurse—with all of my training I should have recognized the signs that something was wrong," she replied. "How could I have not seen it, felt it?" The guilt over her baby's death was overwhelming her common sense.

Tom had to convince her otherwise. It was so unlike Sybil to be pessimistic and defeatist, but he had to give her time to grieve. "God gave her to us for a short time and there's nothing we can do to change that fact. We knew the risks of pregnancy. There's always a chance of a baby dying at birth. Ma lost two babies. It wasn't our daughter's time."

"We had little girl?" Sybil asked as she finally looked up.

"Our baby was a girl," he nodded.

A single tear streamed down Sybil's cheek. "Eleanor Violet Branson—that was what we were going to name the baby if it were a girl."

"Of course, I remember." Tom had to distract her from blaming herself. "Before they took her away yesterday, I sat with her here by your bedside."

"Tell me what you said," Sybil requested and listened intently about their daughter's sad farewell.

"I told her about her mother, what a wonderful nurse you are. And I said you would have showered her with love and goodness."

"And you told her who her father was?"

"I did. And I told her where she came from, about Ireland. I tried to describe home as best I could. I imagined her running free as a bird through the meadows outside of Dublin. I thought about her as a little girl—maybe eight or so—putting wildflowers in her hair. Can you imagine that?" he encouraged Sybil dwell on something joyous.

"Yes, she would have been a beautiful girl, our girl" Sybil stared beyond Tom as she too thought of their daughter growing up.

"She would've had your bright eyes, along with your resolve and a dose of my stubbornness—some combination ay?"

"I can just imagine what she might have looked like," her mouth turned up in a semblance of a smile.

Tom was glad to have given her some relief. He continued with his story: "Then I told her we loved her very much and kissed her goodbye for both of us. I thought it's what you would have wanted."

"Thank you for doing that."

"It seemed right."

'You knew I would have wanted our daughter to feel loved—poor little thing," she reached out for his hand, her heart was broken—but her love for him would help heal their devastating loss. "Oh Tom," she lamented. "Our daughter's gone!"

They fell into an embrace once more.

* * *

Sybil quieted down and slept for the rest of the morning. Tom sat attentively in the chair watching her. Before she fell asleep, Dr. Clarkson informed them that she could return to Downton later that day if Lord Grantham had followed through with his plan to hire a nurse to attend his daughter.

Around noon, the nurse brought a tray of some clear bullion soup and cup of tea for Sybil. Sybil sat up to sip a few spoons of the broth. At Tom's encouragement she did drink all of the tea and nibbled at the bread. Just as the nurse was removing the tray, Cora, Mary and Edith arrived in the ward.

"Tom," Cora warmly greeted him as she walked in. Tom stood up and gave his mother-in-law the chair, while her sisters stood around the bed.

"She's been sleeping most of the morning, but she's feeling better," he wanted to give his mother-in-law only the good news, thus he didn't convey that he was concerned about their earlier conversation.

"You left so early this morning. You couldn't have eaten anything. Mrs. Patmore made you some sandwiches," Cora said. Edith handed him a basket.

"Thank you," he responded—touched by Cora's generosity.

"Oh Mama," Sybil began when she saw her mother.

"Sybil dearest," Cora greeted her adding a kiss on the cheek before she sat down. "Its good to see you awake and that you've eaten something. Its important to keep up your strength."

"I barely ate anything. I feel so utterly useless," Sybil told to her mother, betraying her forlorn mood.

"I know dear. We were all saddened that the baby did not survive. But I just thank God that Dr. Clarkson insisted you come to the hospital and that we didn't lose you too," Cora said passionately, "I couldn't lose my daughter."

"But I've lost mine," Sybil sadly confessed to her mother.

"For that I'm deeply sorry."

"Mama, I don't know what to do or what to feel anymore. I feel frozen, stuck really."

"Believe me losing a child leaves you feeling paralyzed," Cora sympathized.

Then Sybil remembered her mother had suffered a miscarriage six years before.

"Mostly you blame yourself—if only there was something I hadn't missed my baby would have lived. But trust me Sybil it can and will get better," Cora assured her daughter and she took Sybil's hand.

"Mama, I'm glad you understand," she replied squeezing her mother's hand in acknowledgement.

Edith piped up to bring news to her sister: "Everyone downstairs sends condolences. They all wish you well and a speedy recovery."

"Please thank them for me," she said and glanced over at her husband, "and for Tom too."

Tom smiled back at his wife—pleased to see Sybil talking with her family.

Mary chimed in, "Papa has hired a nurse, a Mrs. Reed who arrived from Ripon this morning. Dr. Clarkson says we can take you home this afternoon."

"I should like that, thank you," Sybil told her sister and then yawned. "But now I'd like to rest if you wouldn't mind."

"Yes dear. We don't want to tire you. You've been through quite a lot these past few days. We'll send Pratt for you and Tom around four o'clock."

"Thank you Mama, good-bye," Sybil said as she closed her eyes and fell back asleep. As she entered her dreams all was peaceful and life was full.

* * *

Tom escorted Cora and Sybil's sisters into the hallway. He was glad they had come. Maybe their visit had distracted Sybil from focusing on their daughter's death and blaming herself for what was obviously out of their control. "She'll probably sleep till Pratt comes," Tom informed her family. "Dr. Clarkson has given her mild sedatives to ease the pain, so that's why she's a bit drowsy. But I know she was happy to see you all."

"Don't worry, we'll take good care of her when she comes home," Cora thoughtfully assured Tom.

"I know you will. Being back at Downton will be good for her, someplace familiar—it will help heal the loss." He was thankful that her family had rallied around his wife and in the process had learned to support him as an integral part Sybil's life.

Cora, Mary, and Edith departed the hospital. Tom returned to Sybil's bedside and opened Mrs. Patmore's basket.

For Tom and Sybil life had been challenged by several unexpected events and twists of fate. Their lives had been tumultuous the past few months—might the stress have affected her pregnancy? Then again with everything around them changing so quickly, Sybil hadn't complained feeling ill and in light of their hasty departure from Dublin how could she? Deep down Tom could sense that something had gone awry, but he couldn't describe or name it. They hadn't just lost of their child but amidst the turmoil they had sacrificed something else as well.

_Next up will Downton enliven Sybil's mood?_


	3. Away

_A/N - Finally got around to completing this next chapter. Life is moving on for Tom and Sybil—albeit on a road full of obstacles. Thank you for all of the comments on chapter 2 and "howdy" to the new followers of this story. I want to send a special shout out to ScarletCourt for the helpful tidbits about post Caesarian care. Inquiring minds what to know for the next chapter: what are the pros and cons of their staying on at Downton? Enjoy!_

Chapter 3 - Away

It was a cloudless sunny afternoon in mid August. In a small room in the east wing, Sybil sat immersed in her book and enveloped by the warmth of the sun beaming through the large window.

Edith lightly knocked and poked in her head into the place that had become her sister's convalescent room. "How are you today?" Edith enthusiastically asked.

Sybil looked up from her book. "I'm well."

"Care to join me for tea? How about outside?" Edith suggested as she walked into the room.

"I'm fine, but I'd rather stay in today," Sybil responded to her sister's request.

"Are you sure? I've had James and Alfred arrange tea for us in the rose garden," Edith asked again. "Oh please won't you join me? I've even brought your coat in case you felt a chill." Edith pleaded then gestured toward Sybil's coat draped over her arm. Edith wanted to share with her sister, whom she knew would be supportive, the news that her published letter had led to an offer to write a column. She needed Sybil's sound advice on a matter that would clearly rankle their father's sense of propriety.

"Thank you. But no I'm afraid not today," Sybil informed her sister as she fidgeted with pages of the book in her lap.

"It's a lovely day. Dr. Clarkson said the fresh air would aid in your recovery?" Edith tried again to coax her usually energetic sister to come out of her small room. "Mama and Papa return from London this afternoon. I thought they'd like to see you up and about," Edith added an inducement to get Sybil to go with her. At least Sybil was no longer wearing her bedclothes. She had borrowed some of Edith's summer dresses since her pre-pregnancy clothes were still in Dublin.

"Please don't think I don't appreciate your kind offer. Perhaps I'll join you tomorrow—with Mama." Sybil successfully put off Edith's request, as she had done each time Edith had inquired over the last week.

"I will try again tomorrow then," Edith folded her arms over the coat and tried to recover from the disappointment brought on by her sister's polite decline.

Trying to muster some enthusiasm for her sister's act of kindness, Sybil replied, "please do."

"Well do let me know if there is anything you need," Edith added as she walked to the door—handily defeated in her effort to free Sybil from her sick room.

"I can always ring Mrs. Reed if I need anything, but thank you," Sybil replied and then picked up her book as Edith departed the room.

Since the afternoon when Sybil had arrived home from the Cottage Hospital, she had been restricted to bed rest for three weeks after her Caesarian procedure. That homecoming had been six weeks ago. Now she was able to walk around the lower level of the house. According to Dr. Clarkson on his most recent visit, the incision had healed nicely. The effects of the pregnancy and traumatic labor had all but disappeared. Yet in spite of her improvement in physical health, Sybil refused to venture beyond the confines of the east wing of Downton. No matter what her sisters or Tom offered to lure Sybil from what had become her place of refuge, she stubbornly maintained that she was feeling tired and wanted to stay in bed or her room.

* * *

"Welcome back," Tom stood up and greeted his in-laws as they entered the drawing room in their evening attire.

"It's good to be back home again," Robert replied to his son-in-law. At Sybil's insistence, he, Cora, and Violet had travelled to London for an abbreviated season.

"Indeed, our short stay in London seemed like an eternity with Sybil here and not well. I stopped in to see her as soon as we arrived home," Cora chimed in.

"It cheered her to see you both," Tom nodded to confirm that Sybil was pleased.

"She seems much improved. What does Dr. Clarkson say?" Cora inquired as she sat down on the sofa.

"He says that her recuperation has been as expected, there've been no surprises. He expects over the course of the next few months she'll fully recover—with time and with rest," Tom summarized the doctor's latest assessment.

"Good. Sybil will rally no doubt. Be top notch in no time," Robert optimistically determined.

"I hope so," Tom replied.

"Thank you James," Robert said to the footman who had handed him a cocktail. "And you? Did you miss the dressing gong?" Robert asked quizzically, observing that Tom had not changed into his evening attire.

"No I'll be joining Sybil for dinner—in her room," Tom added reluctantly.

"She's joining us for dinner of course?" Cora asked.

"She'll not be dining with the family tonight," Tom said in response.

"But if the doctor says she's improved why won't she come to dinner?"

"She's fine—at least physically," Tom alluded to his concerns about Sybil's mental state.

"You sound as if you aren't convinced of her recovery," Cora detected the anxiety in Tom's statement.

"Truth is I'm worried," Tom finally revealed.

"But about what?" Cora inquired.

"I suppose it's her mood," Tom said.

"When I talked with her this afternoon she seemed in good spirits. She wanted to know all about London—who we saw, where we went. She even asked if any of the girls who came out with her attended the wedding of Lord and Lady Atherton's daughter. I don't think she feigned her excitement," Cora said of her talk with Sybil. "Surely she's going to be alright?"

"I think she put on a good show for her mother," Tom told Cora.

Just then Edith joined them pulling up one of her white gloves as she entered the drawing room. "Sorry I'm a tad late," Edith said to everyone as she sat down on the sofa next to Cora.

"Quite alright. Tom says that he's worried about Sybil. Have you noticed anything peculiar?" Robert asked his middle daughter as he took a sip of his cocktail.

"Well clearly I'm not a doctor," Edith began looking at Cora and then shifted her attention to Robert. "But there is something off. Like today I tried to get her to come outside for tea—as a gesture to show you and Mama that she'd rallied back—but she refused to budge."

"You mean she won't leave the house?" Robert asked surprised by Edith's story.

"Leave the house, she won't leave her room!" Edith exclaimed.

"You see _that's_ why I'm worried. That's not Sybil. She's taken to her room and will barely leave it. She'll only take meals in her room. I've dined with her every night there and will do so again tonight," Tom said.

Mary and Matthew entered the drawing room.

"Mama, Papa so good to have you home. How was London? Daphne Newburgh's wedding?" Mary greeted both her parents with a kiss.

"London was London—it goes on no matter what. But its sounds as if life around here hasn't been going on as expected. Tom and Edith were telling us that Sybil's not been well," Cora addressed to Mary her surprise over the distressing news about Sybil.

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid my little sister has become quite a hermit. Last night, I tried to get her to come sit and read in the library with me and Matthew, but she claimed she wanted to rest," Mary revealed to her parents.

"So you see, no matter what we've all tried to get her to other parts of the house or go outside for a walk, she turns us down," Tom confessed most of his worries.

"I see," Cora replied as she absorbed what her children and son-in-law had revealed about Sybil. She looked over at Robert. "What can we do? Perhaps we can ring Dr. Clarkson to take a look at her tomorrow?"

"Let's not bother with old Clarkson. He'll have nothing to say about this to be sure. I'll ring Sir Phillip tomorrow. He can recommend a specialist from London who we'll have come up right away," Robert took charge.

"No," Tom instinctively replied.

"What do you mean 'no'? You don't want me to seek Sir Phillip's council?" Robert shot back.

"No," Tom confirmed looking sternly at Robert. "No, I don't think Sybil needs any more of Sir Phillip's advice." His intimation was intended to remind Robert that Sir Philip had dismissed Dr. Clarkson's wise diagnosis of pre-eclampsia. Had Tom listened to the knighted physician his wife would have died along with their daughter.

"She's my daughter and this is my…" Robert took a deep breath to check his displeasure at what he perceived to be his son-in-law's reactionary position, clearly a reflection of Tom's anti-establishment politics.

"With all due respect," Tom began but stopped just short of adding the deferential "my lord." "I'm grateful for all you've done to aid Sybil since she lost the baby. She's needed her family's support," he tactfully told his at times overbearing father-in-law. "But she is my responsibility and I'll decide the next course of action as far as her recovery is concerned," Tom forcefully insisted.

Cora got up from the sofa and walked over to her husband. "That's enough Robert—let's not argue," she calmly interjected into the disagreement by trying to reign in her husband's zeal. "Tom's right. He knows you care, but you have to let him decide what's best for Sybil."

"Now if you'll all excuse me from dinner tonight. I'll go and check in on Sybil," Tom politely said as he walked toward the door passing Carson who had come to inform the family that dinner was ready to be served.

* * *

''You and Kiernan sound incorrigible!" Sybil laughed at Tom's story of how he and his brother duped their uncle in to letting them drive the wagon.

Tom thought she was the most beautiful when joy animated her face. It was a radiance he hadn't seen since that fateful night well over a month ago. "It's nice to see you smile again," Tom remarked as he folded his serviette and placed it on the tray table that sat between them. They were just finishing the meal that Anna had brought up to Sybil's room.

Sybil reached over to place her hand on his—it felt warm. Tom leaned in to bring her hand to his lips and gently kissed it. She smiled warmly at him.

"I have an idea," Tom offered.

"Should I be worried?"

"Would you come upstairs and stay with me tonight, in our room?" Tom sweetly asked. He missed the intimate bond of sharing a bed with Sybil. They needed to renew that connection.

Spooked by a myriad of fears, Sybil withdrew her hand as well as her emotions. "I, I,…" she looked down and stumbled for an excuse. "I shouldn't overexert myself, especially not climb any stairs for now—it's what Dr. Clarkson advised," Sybil's voice lowered as she tried to turn down to Tom's request.

But this time Tom's intentions to get Sybil away from her self-imposed exile were not going to be derailed. "I've just told you at age ten I could handle two of the orneriest horses in all of Ireland, I think I can manage to get my wife upstairs to our bedroom."

"You mean to carry me?"

"Yes!"

"All the way upstairs?" Sybil replied in disbelief. He'd picked her up many times, but toting her through the house up the stairs and to their bedroom was another task altogether.

"You don't think I can do it do you?" Tom flirted raising an eyebrow.

"I'd like to see you try," she challenged him. She always liked a dare and Tom knew it.

"Come here," Tom gestured with his hands as he stood up. He held out his hand to help Sybil rise from her seat. He drew her close. He scooped his arm about her mid section and bent down sliding his other arm behind the bend in her legs. He slowly lifted her up so as not trigger any residual pain. She draped her arms around his broad shoulders.

"God how I've missed holding you in my arms," he lovingly confessed.

"Let's see how you feel when we are in the middle of the staircase," she replied, then kissed his cheek and held on. "Imagine what Carson will think if he sees us?" she whispered as Tom maneuvered her out of the room.

Despite her inwardly directed anger, along with what Tom knew to be an unwarranted sense of guilt for the death of their daughter, Sybil too missed their intimacy.

* * *

In the upper level hallway, Tom slowly lowered Sybil onto the carpeted floor just outside their bedroom door. "Ahhhh. You see we're here already…"

But before he could finish hailing his accomplishment, Sybil clung to him burying her head in his shoulder. "Tom, I don't know…" she cried.

"What's the matter love?" Tom asked surprised by Sybil's sudden change in mood. He could feel her body tremble as he held his wife.

The problem was that Sybil couldn't tell Tom what was the matter. Only that she felt overwhelmed by a paralyzing fear, a feeling of being an outsider at Downton. It was an odd sensation of estrangement given that these hallways, doors, and rooms until a year ago were the world she knew best and the world she trusted the most. The root of this distress was her unshakeable sense of culpability in the death of her child—but she had not yet come to terms with the falsity of this belief. She did not yet know how to contend with these conflicting emotions. It was the effect of this misplaced guilt that had conjured up the debilitating fears.

"It's fine. I'm here—with you," Tom tried to calm her. He thought it best to bring Sybil into their bedroom. He reached behind her and turned the doorknob. With his arm around her shoulders, they walked inside. The two stood for a moment in the middle of their room whose walls were illuminated by the small lamp on the bedside table.

She had not been in her bedroom, the one she now shared with her husband, since the night she went into labor. Everything was where it should be—the bed, the armchair, the dressing table, the screen. But she was gripped by the peculiar feeling that she no longer belonged here, that she was supposed to be somewhere else. _It was her home, she did belong here, _Sybil tried to remind herself.

"Perhaps I should ring Anna," Sybil said nervously grasping for something to focus her thoughts.

"Why do you need Anna?" Tom asked.

"To help me get out of this dress," she lifted her hands and looked down at her frock. "It's one of Edith's so it needs to be undone from the back. Mrs. Reed helped me dress this morning," Sybil told Tom.

"Let me do it. I'll help you," he suggested. He wanted to ease her anxiousness by making her feel comfortable.

"Alright," she agreed.

Tom took off his jacket, tie, and vest and draped them over the armchair. He went to wardrobe and pulled out a drawer. He sifted through its contents to find one of Sybil's nightgowns. Once he found one, he laid it out on the bed. He then gestured for her to sit down on the edge of the bed. He kneeled down and began unbuttoning her shoes, easing them off, and placing them to the side. He looked up and smiled warmly at her. "Lift your leg," he requested. His hands slid up her thighs to undo the tabs that held up her stockings. He rolled each one gently down her leg. When done, he lightly stroked her bare legs.

It was a loving gesture. The gentleness of his touch had a calming effect. With Tom helping her undress rather than the nurse, she felt in possession of her body again.

Tom rose and took her hands to help her stand. Sybil next turned around. With her hand, she lifted her dark curls so that Tom could undo the top hook of the dress. One by one, he methodically undid each button down the back. She let the cotton shift fall to floor and stepped out of it. He picked it up, folded it in half, and laid it on the settee bench at the foot of their bed. Sybil pulled off her camisole. He took the silky garment from her and placed it on top of the dress.

Tom returned to stand behind her to undo the back of her brassiere. He missed feeling the suppleness of her skin against his own. His lips gently brushed her shoulder.

With the touch of Tom's lips against her skin, Sybil felt something flicker deep inside of her—an awakening of sorts. She closed her eyes to savor desire's unexpected appearance. She recalled the nights spent in their bedroom in Dublin. Tom had proven a compassionate lover—introducing her night after night to the erogenous zones of her own body and his. Over time their love making always achieved a level of pleasure that she never knew was possible—this was certainly not what her married friends had told her about their indifferent husbands and disappointing marital relations.

Tom finished the last hook and Sybil peeled off the brassiere. She was now nude from the waist up. Her pale skin glowed in the dim light. He could have never imagined that he would find a woman whose desire for sexual pleasure matched his. He loved cupping the roundness of her breasts. Massaging them always aided in bringing her to climax. Recalling the cries she released in midst of her ecstasy began to arouse him. But knew he had to contain his desire until she had fully healed from the surgery. His hands slipped around her waist and lightly brushed the scar that now cut across her lower abdomen. He kissed her neck and whispered, "I've missed you. I've missed this."

Sybil turned and wrapped her arms around his neck. Their bodies pressed against each other. His hand caressed the exposed skin of her back. They stood in an embrace for about a minute, until Tom quietly suggested: "Here put this on. I don't want you catching cold." He reached over to the bed and grabbed Sybil's nightgown. She held out her arms as he helped her pull the cotton gown overhead. She stood for a moment while he turned down the bed covers. When done Tom once again bent down to gently lift her up. He carried Sybil to her side of the bed laying her onto the soft linen sheets.

"Thank you. I don't how I'd go on without you," Sybil gratefully told Tom as he continued to lean over her. With her hand still behind his neck, she pulled him into a passionate kiss. Their lips met with a spark that always ignited their lovemaking. Not wanting his desire for her to overtake the need to be gentle with Sybil's fragile physical and mental state, he reluctantly pulled out of the kiss.

He stroked her cheek with his thumb and gazed lovingly into her eyes. "You'll be fine," he reassured her. "You're stronger than you know."

Tom went to the wardrobe, found his pajamas, and quickly changed. He climbed into bed next to his wife easing his arms around her. Sybil placed her hand on his chest and let out a sigh of relief—content to be once again in her beloved husband's embrace. For the first time in over a month, she felt at home—Tom would always be where she felt safe and loved. Sybil sweetly looked up and said "good night."

Tom gently kissed her forehead. "Good night," he whispered. He cared deeply for her and knew that tonight the strength of his love helped assuage her fears.

Their lives needed some semblance of stability in order for Sybil to continue on her path of recovery. They have to move on—away from the recent painful events that now colored her memories of Downton.

_Up Next – Tom and Sybil decide what's next._


	4. Duty

_A/N - I'm still trying to rally my DA enthusiasm after witnessing hatchetman Fellowes stalk his latest holiday victim. I mean really WTF? Do all the shippers on this site have the blues or what?_

_I've been away from this story far too long (literally was on the other side of the world for a bit) but finally managed to craft another installment. Important decisions get made, but is everything as it should be? Curious to know what awaits S/T in their new adventure? Thanks for all the lovely and enlightening comments. Enjoy!_

Chapter 4 - Duty

Freshly cut grass had a sharp citrusy smell, Tom noticed as he stood on the edge of Downton's grand lawn. The manicured grounds had never looked more spectacular. The clouds the day before had departed the sky leaving it a perfect blue for Cora's annual garden party to raise funds for the village's Cottage Hospital. There was a hush of voices as couples and quartets of guests milled about while Jimmy and Alfred—trays of champagne glasses carefully balanced—swooped in and around them like starlings. From across the lawn, Tom caught sight of Sybil who wore a flowered cotton shift and wide brimmed straw hat. He could see her sitting under the main tent chatting with two of her friends who had joined the party from nearby estates.

Tom's thoughts drifted to another garden party—the one where he informed Sybil that she had succeeded in finding the housemaid Gwen a secretarial job. Her giddiness was infectious. Overwhelmed by Sybil's excitement, Tom had spontaneously entwined his hand in hers. Mrs. Hughes had discreetly upbraided him. The head housekeeper was correct he could have gotten sacked for such a brazen gesture of familiarity toward his Lordship's youngest daughter. And yet neither did Sybil refuse his hand nor did she express displeasure. She had smiled warmly then walked away. It was at that moment he knew she was different from the others and that there was hope his growing affections might be returned. That garden party was several years ago and a war away. His heart had been right that August afternoon—she would grow to love more than he could have ever imagined.

"Ah, fine day," Matthew remarked as he walked up to take in the view with his brother-in-law.

"Indeed 'tis a fine day," Branson squinted in the glare of the early afternoon sun as he turned his head to reply to Matthew.

"I think our dear mother-in-law rallied everyone in the village to put in an appearance this afternoon," Matthew observed of the crowds on the lawn, far more guests than the pre-war parties had drawn.

Surveying the bustling scene before him, Tom replied "Looks more like she invited the entire county!"

"When Cousin Cora is determined the only solution is to surrender or so I've learned."

"I can see where our wives get their wherewithal," Tom chuckled. "I hope this proves a successful effort for the hospital. When Sybil was there I noticed all the equipment had had the once over. And the wards are in need of a good coat of paint."

"It's one of the estate's main obligations to the village. So I heartily agree we need to modernize that along with many of the ways things get done around here," Matthew revealed another facet of his grand plans for Downton.

"In due time," Tom reminded Matthew who he knew was hell bent on making the estate run more efficiently.

"The time is now, my friend. One has to strike while the iron is hot."

"You're right. Time is certainly of the essence when one needs to move ahead," Tom replied.

"Sounds as if you are making plans of your own," Matthew picked up on Tom's intimation.

"May I ask you something? Something personal?" Tom asked earnestly.

"Certainly. I'd like to think we're friends."

"I don't think staying at Downton will be good for Sybil, for the long term I mean. After she lost the baby, her parents have taken good care of her. They've taken good care of me for that matter. And I'm grateful for all they've done," Tom began to layout his plan.

"Sound's like a big 'but' in the middle there somewhere, and I suspect that 'but' is the one that's going put Robert's nose out of joint. Am I correct?"

"You know our situation all too well," Tom said. "Here's my dilemma: I think its time Sybil and I left Downton, but I don't want to upset the apple cart."

"It's your lives, do as you please," Matthew suggested cavalierly.

"That may be true. But it's not that simple when you're part of this family," Tom reminded the future heir to the estate.

"Why leave now?" Matthew then asked.

"As for the 'why now' its fairly obvious—Sybil's not been herself since she lost the baby—depressed, moody, withdrawn. She's gotten better in the last two weeks, its good to see her out of the house and talking with her friends. But I'm convinced she needs a change," Tom revealed.

"But if staying here has helped her get better, is it wise to leave now?"

"I'm not sure it is good for her to stay around a life she left behind," Tom said. "Lord and Lady Grantham may mean well but they have their own agenda for her recovery. Listen, when I suggested to her mother that Sybil help with planning the garden party, she flat out turned down the idea."

"Sounds like a reasonable suggestion to me."

"Her mother thought it would be too much of a strain on Sybil. Something about Sybil not overextending herself, needing to rest."

"Clarkson did advise limited activity did he not?"

"Yes, but he didn't say for her to stay comatose," Tom said. "If there's one thing I know about my wife is that she rises to a challenge. She needs to be busy, to work. Sitting around Downton, making calls and serving tea is not who she is."

"Curious how sisters turn out. My wife relishes Downton's duties and protocols. Your wife can't abide them."

"You have to admit they both have their own minds though," Tom reminded his friend.

"And neither of us are allowed to forget it!" Matthew laughed. "If you leave where will you go? Dublin is clearly out of the question. From the sounds of it you'll be arrested as soon as you step off the ferry."

"I don't know—London, Norwich maybe," Tom confessed about the missing link in his plan. "I do know this, I have to talk to Sybil and soon."

"You have to do what's best for your family."

"Problem is Lord Grantham will want to do what's best for _his_ family," Tom paid heed to the strong will of the family's patriarch.

"He might," Matthew cautioned.

"You know he will. I'm also reluctant to cause too much friction right now given Sybil's fragile state. Remember what happened when we announced our plans to marry."

"That was rough going."

"Her father tried to cut Sybil off, then when that failed he tried to buy me off."

"Did he!" Matthew was shocked at this revelation. "I had no idea Robert went that far—tried buying you off?"

"I've put it behind us. But I'm afraid he might try to put up obstacles to us leaving again."

"Look," Matthew reached over and placed his hand on Tom's shoulder. "As I said: you have to do what's best for your family. Don't let Robert or Cora persuade you otherwise."

"I will" Tom looked over and nodded. He was relieved to get support from Matthew, "Thank you."

"What are you two conspiring about? You look thick as thieves," Mary inquired as she strolled over to stand between the two men and hooked her arm through Matthew's.

"Tom and I were both saying how much pleasure we derive from being married to Crawley women," Matthew teased offering a condensed version of their conversation.

"Pleasure? Or pain? Or a little of both," Mary quipped.

Matthew and Tom both laughed at Mary's question.

Matthew warned: "Don't answer that, it's obviously a trap!"

"Regardless of what you've decided it's far too lovely an afternoon to waste perfectly good champagne, let's go find a some," Mary tugged at Matthew and the two sauntered across the lawn.

* * *

Heading the other direction, Tom walked over to the large white tent to find Sybil. He could hear the sound laughter. As he approached the table, he found her being interrogated by two fashionably dressed women who sat facing her in large wicker chairs. He was worried how Sybil would react to being around so many people after her lengthy convalescence, but she seemed to be faring well.

"There you are!" Sybil greeted Tom as he walked up her chair. She took his hand as he stood next to her. "Tom, I'd like you to meet my old friends Julia Ashcroft and Minnie Fitzsimmons—we all came out together."

"Ladies," Tom politely nodded.

"We were just asking Sybil about living in Dublin amongst the Irish people. What fun!" beamed Julia, a small blond woman whose perfume was going to linger long after she had departed.

"Wildly different I dare say," Minnie chimed in displaying her wide toothed grin. "A delicious adventure," she added surveying Tom from head to toe.

Minnie and Julia stood up to leave their friend.

"Now Sybil darling, next time you and Mr. Branson come down to London, you must stay with us at Harrington House. We can pop 'round to Ciros, dance till dawn, have a smashingly good time," Julia suggested as she finished off her glass of champagne and placed it on the nearby table.

"Sybil, you're looking first-rate you know, after your, you know—umm. I'm glad," Minnie said awkwardly, but with the best of intentions as she departed. "Mr. Branson," she raised a brow and bit her lip as if she were about to devour him.

"Good-bye you two. And not too much champagne—you promised," Sybil bid her old friends.

"Us?" said Minnie. "Never!" added Julia. They walked away arm-in-arm all the while giggling ferociously.

"What's that all about?" Tom asked as he sat down. He had the peculiar sense that her friends had just given him the once over as if he were a full-length sable coat. Obviously he was still the fascination of the county—the brash Irish chauffer who had absconded with the Earl's innocent daughter.

"Oh don't mind them. Their world is one of parties, dancing, and more parties. Fun to listen to but I don't envy them," Sybil remarked as she watched them make a beeline for a tray of champagne. She turned her head back to smile warmly at her husband.

"Are you happy to be here with your friends …with your family?" he asked rather cryptically.

"Yes of course, why wouldn't I be?" she replied cocking her head just slightly at his probing question.

"Do you feel like a walk?" Tom suggested.

Sybil nodded yes. Tom stood and offered his hand to help his wife up. They strolled over to the temple at the edge of the lawn then climbed the grassy incline to enter the large folly. Once there, they stood side by side between the tall Corinthian columns that channeled a slight breeze—a welcome relief from the warm mid-afternoon sun. From their vantage point, the grand neo-gothic edifice of Downton sat perfectly framed by the lush landscape that surrounded it.

Sybil let out a heavy sigh. "The quiet is nice."

Tom sensed she was overwhelmed by the revelry of the party. "Its good to take a break from all those people."

As she gazed across the lawn at her family's stately home, she remarked to her husband, "I'd never thought I'd be back here after we left for Dublin a year ago."

"Is that good or bad?" Tom asked trying to gauge her mood before he made his proposal.

Sybil didn't know what she felt about Downton. She didn't know a lot of things lately. While she was glad to be getting around more easily, sometimes she still felt anxious about her next step and where it would take her. She wanted to revive that sense of optimism that had spirited their lives away from here a year ago. She told Tom, "I don't know what it means or how I feel—the world just _is_ right now."

Tom turned toward her and leaned against the smooth surface of the column, "Alright then, what would you say if we were to leave Downton?"

"Go back to Dublin?" Sybil replied confused by what he was asking her. "Oh Tom, I want to go back to our home, I miss it terribly sometimes, but you know we can't till things settle down. We promised Papa."

"No need to worry I'll keep my word. I'll not go back," he assured her.

From that pensive look on his face, Sybil knew he was contemplating something significant: "just what are you asking me?"

"What I mean is what if we were to leave Downton, go to live somewhere else in England? I was thinking we could try going south—outside of London maybe?"

"You want to leave here?" Sybil asked for clarification.

"Yes," he nodded.

"Leave Downton?" she asked again as the implications of his request began to become apparent.

He wanted her to understand his rationale for leaving: "I think its time we were on our own again."

"You mean get away from my family and all its demands," Sybil wondered. "I know it's been hard not quite fitting in with my family or with the staff anymore."

"No, I don't want to escape your family—well not entirely to be honest. As much as I may have had my reservations about them, they've been decent to me. And they'll do anything for the sake of your wellbeing. I understand that now."

"They do like you. Mary likes you, she told me. You and Matthew have become chums. Even Papa is fond of you in his own way—or at least I think so," she tried to reassure Tom just in case his desire to leave was because he thought the family was not on their side.

"Love," Tom walked over, took both her hands and looked affectionately into her eyes. "This isn't about me, it's for your sake. I just think it would be better for you to be away from here."

"But why? I'm almost healed from the surgery since I lost the…" Sybil began. She still had difficulty talking about the death of their daughter a sign that not everything had healed. She took a breath and finished, "since losing the baby."

"You've been steadily improving and I'm proud of your progress," he reached up to stroke her cheek and smiled. "But there's something missing."

"Like what?" she wondered.

"Work. Doing something with your life—isn't that what you've always wanted," Tom reminded her.

Sybil stared intently at Downton in the distance. It was as if she had been doused with spray of cold water. She had forgotten the importance of working to help others had in her life. That ambition had been stalled for quite some time—sacrificed the moment she had to flee Dublin in the dead of the night.

"Your work as a nurse was just beginning to advance when we had to leave."

"Yes, that's true."

"Don't you want to get back to doing that work?"

"I, I, don't know what I want anymore," she revealed looking back at Tom. "What I want could never be. I want to hold my daughter in my arms. Since I lost the baby I haven't had the desire for much else," she explained her solemn mood.

Tom realized now how much Sybil had lost and it wasn't just their child. Many of the expectations of a life together had also been lost over the past six months. He promised he would take care of her and make her happy. He brought her hands to his lips and kissed them. "We can have that life, but to make it we can't do it here," he said.

She glanced down at the marble terrace.

"At Downton you'll always be Lady Sybil. You'll always be their youngest daughter. You won't be able to do the things that you were meant to do."

Sybil contemplated Tom's honest assessment of their current status. He was right, they needed to lead the life they had planned. They had been both in limbo for several months. Staying at Downton would not be moving forward. "But go where?" she wondered aloud. Then she stumbled upon a possible destination: "Liverpool, what about there? Your brother and his family live there. You've cousins nearby. I know I wasn't too keen on it a while ago, but at least you could find work right away in Kiernan's garage."

"That's…true," he hesitated as he considered his wife's suggestion. Even though Kiernan had managed to maintain his own business, life for his brother and family hadn't been easy. The city's wards had many rough patches of poverty and destitution, poorer in many aspects of daily life than the worst neighborhoods of London. "Liverpool isn't Dublin, its twice as big you know."

"But it does have hospitals—large and small. Once I'm completely out of the woods so far as the doctors are concerned, I'm sure I can find a position as a nurse," she said. "Think about it this way: it will be someplace new for the both of us," Sybil rationalized.

Sybil was right. Downton was her home, Dublin his, but Liverpool would be middle ground, new territory. A place where no one really knew them or more importantly knew who they had been—except Tom's brother. It wouldn't be easy, but it was worth a try. "So you agree to leave then?" he wanted to be sure.

"If you think it best, then yes," she affirmed.

"We'll have to tell your family," Tom said dreading the reaction of her father and mother that he was going to move their daughter to Liverpool.

"Best to inform them tonight I think," Sybil suggested with growing confidence. "With that out of the way we can prepare to leave by the end of the week. We'll have to contact your sister to pack our things and ship them to Liverpool, then…" she strategized their next moves.

Tom placed his hands around Sybil's waist. He was please to see her eager for a new start. Perhaps leaving Downton was what the doctor really should have ordered. "We're off to Liverpool then," he said excitedly.

"It will be, to quote Minnie 'a delicious adventure,'" Sybil leaned in to kiss her husband and seal the deal.

* * *

Sybil stood on the main drive watching the team of groundskeepers dismantle the tent whose billowing white fabric glowed in the orange light of sunset. The cool evening air tempered her raging anger. Telling her parents about their impending departure had not gone smoothly. As had been expected, Robert was furious with Tom that he would be taking Sybil away from a place where she was out of harm's way, especially after the calamitous incidents in Dublin and the recent life threatening birth. "To add injury to insult" Robert had yelled, Tom was recklessly moving his daughter to Liverpool—a teeming port city that her father had equated with the likes of Gomorrah. Fortunately, Matthew and Mary had intervened to try and make Robert see that this move was what was best for Sybil. And that she would be safe and happy, so long as she was with her husband.

"I must say that was a close second to your engagement announcement in the heated family argument competition. You and Tom certainly know how to ruffle Papa's feathers," Mary commented as she came outside and stood next to her sister. "Where's Tom? He hasn't upped sticks already has he?"

"Arghhh, sometimes Papa makes me feel like I'm still ten," Sybil clenched her fists aggravated at her father's imperious behavior. "I sent Tom for a walk to calm down. Perhaps, I should've joined him," Sybil kicked few stones on the drive.

"Calm down my dear. Getting angry won't help the situation. Papa can't stop you and Tom from leaving," Mary reminded her.

"That is true, but I would like him _for once_ to support us without having to do battle. Just once!"

"Papa will come around before you leave. He always does."

"Why can't they just accept him? I know Tom's not Matthew—he's not one of us. I knew that when I married him. It'swhy I married him."

"Well if you remember Matthew was a humble solicitor from Manchester before Downton was thrust upon him. He wasn't one of us either and at first he did all he could to refuse the invitation," Mary recalled her husband's difficult transition to his position as the future Lord Grantham.

"Downton's my past, Tom is my future. He has opened a whole new world to me. That's why he makes me happy. I wish Mama and Papa could see that," Sybil lamented.

"I do see it," Cora interjected as she joined her daughters in front of the house. "Mary, Matthew was asking for you. I believe he's waiting for you in the library," her mother relayed the message so that she might have some time with her youngest daughter.

"I'll leave you two alone," Mary got the hint and kissed her sister's cheek.

"Thank you for being in our corner," Sybil said.

"Matthew and I will come visit as soon as you settle. How does that sound?" Mary suggested.

Sybil smiled at Mary's kind offer, "We'd like that very much."

Mary walked back into the house. Cora pulled her shawl around her shoulders. "Carson has laid out a buffet supper in the dining room if you're hungry."

"Thank you I'm not hungry," Sybil brusquely replied.

"Are you tired?" Cora asked as she reached her hand up and pushed back Sybil's hair.

"I am tired, tired of it all," Sybil sighed and looked away.

"I know and I'm sorry. Please understand why Robert gets overly passionate about his fatherly duties. Its only because he wants what's best for his children," Cora defended her husband's actions.

"But Mary, Edith, and I aren't children anymore," Sybil corrected her mother. "I'm a wife with responsibilities to my husband."

Cora put her arm around Sybil. "From the day you were born you always did things differently from Edith and Mary. You walked before they did. You cared in ways they did not. I remember when you assembled in your room a menagerie of broken dolls you were going care for and mend," Cora wistfully recalled her daughter's youth. "Its why I wasn't surprised when you were the first to leave the nest for your nurse's training in York. You've always had a restless spirit and desire to engage the world."

"If you know and accept who I am then why didn't you stand up to Papa in the sitting room an hour ago? You let him criticize Tom at every turn."

"Because as you said: I'm a wife with responsibilities to my husband," Cora reminded her daughter.

Sybil raised her brow at her mother's sharp rejoinder. She had just learned an important lesson about how conflicting familial obligations can often put two people at odds—especially as families grow.

"Don't worry. I'll talk to your father when we're alone tonight. He'll see what Tom is doing is in your best interest," Cora said reassuringly. "And I'm sorry if I too have held you back. I've wanted to take extra special care of you after you lost the baby. A mother never wants her child to go through something so terrible."

For a moment that hollowness in Sybil's heart, the sadness she felt for her baby returned. She fought back a tear. Sensing her daughter's sudden change in mood, Cora gently kissed Sybil on her forehead and caressed her arm.

"I'm very proud of the woman you have become," Cora said lovingly. "And in your choice of husbands. Tom saved your life during labor by insisting you go to the hospital."

"Thank you Mama," Sybil replied pleased to know her mother was accepting of Tom.

"Remember I too had a taste of what its like to be an outsider in this family. I know all too well what unreasonably high expectations your father and grandmother have of everyone who joins the Crawleys," Cora confessed. "You'll be fine in Liverpool. You've got more gumption, as we Americans like to say, than anyone in the family. It's time you and Tom moved on to start that family of your own."

Sybil wrapped her arm around her mother's waist and gently squeezed. She felt an extraordinary sense of relief to hear Cora affirm the decisions she had made in her life. She realized her parents' validation was something that had also gone missing amidst turmoil over the past few months. With it Sybil felt more confident about where her next steps were taking her.

Mr. Carson appeared to inform Cora that the buffet was ready if she would like to join her husband in the dining room.

Just ambling up the drive, Tom returned from his stroll. Sybil left her mother to meet him. When they met up she entwined her hand in his and they walked the rest of the way to the front door where Mr. Carson stood waiting. They were ready to leave Downton.

_Up next - Life in Liverpool, but will it be delicious adventure?_


End file.
